The Big Date
by rideaspider
Summary: Stephanie has a hot date with Morelli. Totally Cupcake. RATED M - adult content and language - consider yourselves warned.
1. Getting Dressed

**Not my characters. Everyone involved belongs to the great and might Janet Evanovich.**

_This one is by special request from NittanyGirl. Here's to you, girl! Thanks - as always - to VampTrampBella for her amazing and ever-patient Beta services._

**The Big Date - Part I**

I stared into my closet and scowled. _Great, just great. I finally have a real date and can't find a damn thing to wear._ I hitched my towel up a little tighter around my boobs and huffed out a sigh of defeat. As if on cue, my cell phone rang. A quick glance at the number display and I answered it with a rush of relief. "You must be psychic," I said by way of greeting.

Sally laughed. "Not last time I checked. What's shakin'?"

"I'm having a wardrobe crisis," I explained. "I've got a date with Joe tonight and can't figure out what to wear."

"You two date? Each other? I thought you just did booty calls."

"Yeah, well…tonight he's taking me to _La Bella._" I named a very upscale Italian restaurant. As in three-month waiting list for reservations upscale.

"Fuckin' A! I'll be there in ten." Sally said, and then he hung up. I hesitated for three heartbeats, then sucked in a big breath and dialed Lula.

"S'up?"

"You remember that big date I told you about?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know what to wear."

"You want me to come over there?"

I closed my eyes. "Please."

"Well, shit. I been thinkin' 'bout side-lining as a fashion consultant anyway. I figure I out to be good at it what with all my modeling experience and everything. You can be like my very first client or some shit."

It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to roll my eyes. I _was_ asking for her help, after all. "Sure. How fast can you get here?"

"Give me fifteen minutes. Go ahead and do your makeup."

"OK. Sally's on the way, too. He called as I was picking up the phone to call you," I explained in a rush because it would not do to have Lula thinking she was my second choice.

"Girl, you just wait and see how nice we doll you up. Officer Hottie ain't gonna know what hit him."

"That's kind of what scares me," I said to the dead phone. I glanced at the clock and was seized by a wave of panic. Only an hour until Joe picks me up! I decided to do what I could toward getting dressed while waiting for the cavalry to arrive, and started by pulling out the Victoria's Secret bag containing the lingerie I'd bought especially for this occasion. I slipped on the black lace thong and pretty matching push-up bra, then slid on my robe and set to work putting my face on. This was definitely a double mascara kind of night. I went a little heavier on the make-up than usual, but since my usual is 'none' that wasn't hard to do. I lined my eyes in black kohl pencil then smudged it to soften the effect. Shimmery pearl colored eye shadow came next, then soft pink blush, translucent powder, and shiny 'wet' lip gloss in a pink just a shade darker than my natural lip color. I took a long, appraising look in the mirror, added a third coat of mascara and called it good.

Since my reinforcements still had not arrived I figured it was safe to finish assembling my underwear. I rolled on the silk stockings and then carefully attached the garter belt that matched the bra and thong set I already had on. Four-inch stilettos had seemed a bit _déclassé_ for this particular date, so I'd bought three-inch strappy black heels instead. Once the shoes were on, I stood in front of the mirror and slipped my robe off so I could get a good look at the whole ensemble. I smiled. Yep – Morelli would approve. _Approve_, I giggled to myself. _That's putting it mildly._ Just then my memory flashed on a Cosmo article I'd read at the beauty shop. It had been about wearing stockings and garters for 'effect' instead of just for looks. It seems that if you wear the panties over the garter belt instead of under it you can remove them for – er – access without taking the rest of it off. I grinned. Joe was _so_ going to approve.

I heard the front door open just as I finished changing the order of my underwear. Funny, I didn't remember unlocking the door for Sally and Lula, but oh well. At least one or both of them was here now and we could tackle my fashion emergency. "In here!" I called and turned my back to the door to grab my robe.

"Babe."

I swear to God the earth stopped turning. It was like in the movies when something really dramatic happens and everything goes all slow-motion and silent for a few seconds. For exactly six heartbeats all I could hear was the pounding of my own pulse, and then the world ground back into motion. I closed my eyes and focused on putting the robe on, trying desperately not to hyperventilate, panic, or otherwise acknowledge the presence of the man now framed in my bedroom doorway. Well, this certainly explained why I didn't remember unlocking my door.

"Lula and Sally should be here any minute," I said by way of what I hoped was preemptive explanation. He wouldn't _do_ anything about the lingerie if he knew we wouldn't be alone long, right? At least my voice wasn't too squeaky.

He just arched one eyebrow at me. "Babe."

"What?" I huffed, now getting a little angry and a lot nervous. He was entirely too calm. "They're coming over to help me pick out clothes for my date."

"Morelli?" asked the master of one-word sentences in a flat, cool tone.

When in doubt, be bitchy. "You know it is," I snapped. A silence stretched between us, filled with so many things left unsaid. Ranger just kept his gaze steady on me while I tried not to fidget. He finally gave a tiny nod and pushed away from the door frame. His eyes gave me a slow, deliberate top-to-bottom and then the corners of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

"Lucky man," he said. And then he turned on his heel and walked out. About four seconds later Lula and Sally burst through my door.

"Girl! Did I just see Batman leaving your apartment?" Lula's eyes were bugged out big as duck eggs.

"Yeah."

"What the fuck?"

"Nothing! He just stopped by for a second. That's all."

Sally chimed in, "That's never 'all' when a man stops by to see a gal and she's wearing drawers that fancy."

I frowned. "These are for Morelli." Then what he'd said sunk in a little more and I looked down at myself. Shit. I'd forgotten to tie my robe. No wonder Ranger had looked at me like I was Prime Rib. I felt the crimson climb my neck and color my cheeks as I cinched the robe firmly closed and tried not to act like I wanted to crawl under a rock.

"Oh, don't close the curtain on our account," Sally laughed. "We've already seen the show." He pulled Lula over to the closet and they began studying my clothes.

I ignored his comment and crossed my arms tightly in front of me. "So do you two think you can help or what?" The question sounded snarky even to me.

"Don't you worry 'bout us." Lula's posterior waggled back and forth as she rummaged through my dresser drawers, occasionally pausing to evaluate an item before shoving back into the depths and continuing her excavation. "We're gonna dress your ass off."

Sally glanced over his shoulder at me and then returned to giving my closet the same treatment Lula was giving the dresser. "Go do something useful – like fix your hair."

My hand flew up to touch the still-damp disaster perched on top of my head. Lula threw me another look. "Shit, girl. Unless you're planning on impersonating Tina Turner tonight you might want to get after that with some rollers and a dryer."

I could still hear bits and pieces of what was happening in my bedroom while I stood in front of the bathroom mirror doing battle with my hair. Most of the conversation was unintelligible, but I caught a few snippets like, "too slutty," and – more frighteningly, "not slutty enough." I finally beat my hair into submission by way of gel, dryer, and curling iron. It had dried too much on its own to be presentable down, so I'd twisted it up into a loose coil on the back of my head and pinned it in place. Then I pulled down thin tendrils to frame my face and tamed them with the curling iron. Finally, Lula called from the bedroom, "So are you gonna get dressed, or what?"

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I'd asked for their help. When I turned the corner into my bedroom I found heaps of cast-aside clothing covering most of the floor and all of the bed. Hangers stuck out at odd angles from the closet and drawers stood half-open with clothes hanging over their sides like massacre victims. Lula and Sally stood together in the middle of the destruction, proudly holding out their selections for my outfit this evening and looking eager as kids on Christmas morning.

I made myself look away from the mess and focus on the items they held out toward me. Lula was clutching an A-line skirt from one of the few suits that I owned. It fell just below the knee and was made from a filmy material not found in nature that would not wrinkle but would cling and swish as I walked. Sally had in one hand a shiny silver sleeveless shell top with a deep V neckline and just enough tailoring to accentuate the curves the push-up bra helped create. In his other hand was a black silk wrap that did not belong to me.

"That's not mine." Just call me Captain Obvious.

"No shit." Lula replied.

"It's mine," Sally added. "I knew you wouldn't have appropriate accessories so I brought a few things with me." I just stood there. Lula narrowed her eyes at me.

"You gonna put these on?" she demanded.

Sally's face fell. "She doesn't like them."

Giving my head a little shake, I moved toward them and reached for the skirt. "No, I like them fine. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Surprised, how?" Lula's eyes were down to slits now and we had a momentary tug-of-war over the skirt. I tried to recover my fumble.

"It would not have occurred to me to take apart the suit for this skirt, and I haven't worn that top in years. If you'd asked me earlier I'd have called it club wear and never considered it for an outfit like this."

"See, that's what us fashion consultants do," Lula brightened considerably and gave Sally a high-five. "We get you to see your ol' tired shit in a whole new way."

"Fuckin' A!" Sally agreed, nodding enthusiastically. I did a mental eye-roll and stepped into the bathroom to put the outfit on. I don't really know why I bothered leaving the room…they'd both already seen what I was (or wasn't) wearing under the robe.

"Don't know why you're hiding," Lula called. "We've already seen your little fancy-pants getup under that robe." Apparently Captain Obvious has a sidekick.

I ignored her and pulled the skirt over the silk stockings, then slipped my head and arms into the top carefully so I wouldn't destroy the hairdo. I tugged the clothes straight and tried to check myself out in the bathroom mirror but I knew it was useless. I wouldn't get a good look at the outfit without the full-length mirror, and that was in the bedroom…with an audience. I blew out a sigh and faced my friends.

Sally stared for a second and then whistled appreciatively. Lula grinned and fanned herself. "Sheee-it, girl! You're gonna knock his ass dead tonight!" I turned to the mirror and gave a startled little gasp. Damn. I looked good!

Sally laid the wrap across my shoulders so we could get the full effect. He frowned. "Jewelry. You need jewelry."

I nodded and started pulling things out of the jewelry box on top of my dresser. Both of my friends immediately started poking through the pile and muttering.

"Don't you have anything but these old hooker hoop earrings?" Lula asked. I just stared at her. Sally finally gave up and took the three-inch rhinestone danglies out of his own ears and handed them to me. Then he rummaged around in a bag he must have brought with him but that I had not noticed before and came up with a simple pendant necklace and three-stand bracelet to match the earrings.

"Now you look high class!" Lula declared, and she and Sally high-fived again. Just then the front door opened and Morelli called out, "Steph?"

"Whoops! That's our cue to leave." Sally grabbed his bag and hustled Lula out. I followed a few steps behind them. They passed Morelli in the living room and he gave them a puzzled look. Sally winked and yelled, "Have fun, kiddies!" as he dragged Lula through the door. Lula grabbed the door frame and used it as an anchor point to yank Sally back in just as Joe turned to see me. Morelli choked on whatever he'd been about to say. He just stood there staring at me with his mouth hanging open and making a little strangled noise in his throat. "Just wait 'til you see what's _under _that outfit," Lula said. She turned loose of the door and let Sally pull her out into the hall.

The door shut behind them and I took a good look at the man standing in my living room. _God, but he's gorgeous_. He had on the same charcoal-gray suit he'd worn to his cousin Julie's wedding, and though he'd obviously shaved for our date the beginnings of a five o' clock shadow outlined his strong jaw. We stood there gaping at each other for several seconds, and then Joe recovered his voice. Sort of. "Wow… Cupcake… you look… wow…" he stammered.

I smiled, crossed the room, and stepped in very close to him before saying softly, "Why, Detective…you seem a bit flustered." Then I went up on tiptoe for a hello kiss. He barely brushed his lips against mine then put his hands on my upper arms and took a step backwards. I frowned. In a breathy voice he explained, "If we start that now, with you looking the way you do, we'll never make it out the door."

"Well, we certainly can't have you mussing my hair or make-up, now can we?"

He herded me out of the apartment, down the hall and into the elevator. As the doors closed, he turned and gave me a long, studious look. "What?" I asked.

"What did Lula mean?"

"About what?"

"She said something about what you're wearing under those clothes."

I grinned and slowly pulled the hem of my skirt up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lacy tops of the stockings and ribbon of the garters. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Is that….are those……" he gulped. "Are you wearing a garter belt?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes, groaned, and had time to thunk his head twice against the elevator wall before it stopped and the doors opened.


	2. Dinner

_Not mine, yada yada yada. All the usual stuff. Enjoy!_

**The Big Date - Part II**

I didn't even know that Morelli had a gentleman mode, but suddenly he was in it. He escorted me to his SUV and opened the passenger door, then brushed the Bob fur out of the seat and offered me a hand to get in. I gathered my skirt to climb up using Joe's outstretched hand for balance. There's just no truly graceful way to get into any vehicle that sits higher than 12 inches off the ground in a skirt and heels. I settled into the seat and looked up to find him staring at my legs.

"You just pulled that chivalrous shit so I'd flash you the garters, didn't you?"

Joe dropped his eyes to the pavement as a sheepish grin spread across his face. "Busted, huh?"

"You're not that slick."

"Sure I am." He grinned wider, shut my door and walked around to the driver's side. An easy silence settled between us as he pulled out of the lot and turned toward the restaurant. This was one of the things I loved about being in a relationship with Joe - in addition to the amazing orgasms and mutual aversion to vegetables, of course. We were so comfortable together that neither of us felt it necessary to fill the quiet with mindless chatter. That may not be such an incredible thing for a guy, but for me it was a pretty major accomplishment.

He reached over the center console and took my hand, entwining our fingers and then resting our joined hands on my thigh with his on top. He stroked his thumb slowly back and forth on my leg. It was such a sweet, quiet gesture that of course I had to open my mouth and ruin the moment. "You're thinking about my underwear again."

"Cupcake, I'm almost always thinking about your underwear."

He lifted our hands to his mouth and placed a quick kiss on the back of mine, then released me and fiddled with the radio. The rest of the short drive passed in that same comfortable, known-you-forever absence of conversation we'd begun in but now the radio filled the silence with Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, and the Rolling Stones. Every once in a while Joe would glance over at me and smile or chuckle softly to himself. I can only assume he had garters on the brain.

We were greeted at the door of La Bella by a skinny Barbie clone who couldn't have been a day over twelve. I think she said her name was Bambi, or Candy, or something equally silly, but in my head she will forever be known only as Bimbette. We followed along as the little chippie booty-swished and hair-flipped her way to our table. She seated us, giggled, told Morelli to ask for her if he needed _anything_, giggled, told Morelli our server would be right over, giggled, flipped her hair and batted her eyes. I wanted so badly to snatch her bleached blond hair out by its little dark roots, but I settled for a death glare. Joe had the audacity to smile at her as she swished away, still giggling. I turned the death glare on him. He seemed surprised to see it.

"What?"

"You were flirting with her."

"Was not."

"She was obviously flirting with you, and you smiled at her."

"I'm not allowed to smile?"

"She's twelve."

He grinned. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You are jealous!"

"Am not."

He laughed. "Cupcake, she's a hostess for chrissakes. It's her job to be cute and flirt with the customers. I'm also pretty sure she's probably a little older than twelve."

His life was saved by the waiter, who chose that exact moment to materialize beside our table. He introduced himself as "Antonio" and he certainly looked like authentic Italian; stocky, dark complexion, dark hair and eyes with heavy brows and thick lashes, and handsome in that aristocratic-family-from-the-old-country way some Italian men have. The accent ruined it though – that was pure Brooklyn. I kept glaring at Morelli over the flickering light of the candle on our table, but he was studying the wine list while Antonio recited the specials. It's no fun to glare at someone if they aren't paying attention to you, so I looked around the restaurant instead.

I have to say, it was a truly beautiful building. The walls were exposed antique brick and the high ceilings were plaster. The huge space was divided into smaller, cozier sections by archways that soared between massive pillars also made of that fabulous old red brick. A sleek mahogany bar occupied the far wall and a baby grand piano stood on a small dais to one side of it. A thin, white-haired man sat at the piano with his eyes closed, coaxing soft operatic melodies from its keys. Real white linen cloths covered dark wood tables surrounded by matching chairs. The overall effect was a dark, understated elegance peaceful enough that my foul mood evaporated as quickly as Bimbette had called it into existence.

I turned back to our table to find Antonio had vanished and Morelli was watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's very nice."

"A beautiful place for a beautiful woman."

_WTF? Where did that line come from?_

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

_Good shit, are we stuck in Cheesy Line Land? Did we fall into some alternate dimension and I didn't notice? This is too weird. Say something, Steph. _Morelli was grinning at me. _Oh hell. _

"How much of that did I say out loud?"

"I'm guessing pretty much all of it."

"Great."

He smiled. "I don't think we're in an alternate dimension. Last I knew La Bella was still in Trenton."

"Ha. Ha."

"Oh come on, Cupcake. Don't go all sour again so soon."

Antonio came to the rescue again. He brought out a bottle of wine, made a big show of presenting the label to us, and poured a tiny amount into Joe's glass. Then we had one of those scenes that you think only happens in the movies: Morelli picked up the glass and swirled the jewel-red liquid around a couple of times, sniffed at it, then took a tiny little sip and nodded at Antonio. It was so surreal that I had to choke down a laugh and ended up giving sort of a little snort. Morelli shot me a sharp look from under one raised eyebrow. I bit my lip and managed to not crack up while Antonio filled our wine glasses. When he was gone I stifled my chortles behind the crisp linen napkin. Now it was Joe's turn to glare at me. He didn't last long, though. Giggle fits are contagious and it was less than a minute before he was laughing into his own napkin.

At least the laughter broke that weird spell of cheesiness we'd been stuck in since our arrival. "That was so surreal." Captain Obvious put in an encore performance.

"Yeah," Joe chuckled and looked around. "What are we doing here?"

"I have no idea."

"Guess we're not really fancy restaurant type people, are we?"

"No. It was a good try though."

He sighed. "Well, let's eat some overpriced pasta, drink some ridiculously expensive wine, and then go home for leftover cake and sweaty, nasty sex."

"Sounds like a plan to me." I picked up one of the elegant script menus. "What should we get?"

"How about we order something we can't pronounce?"

I snorted. "That might be kind of tough since you _are_ Italian and I'm half."

"Oh, yeah. Scratch that." He looked around. "Think they serve meatball subs and beer here?"

"Kind of doubt it. What were the specials?"

"I don't know. I wasn't listening to him."

"Why not?"

"I was thinking about your underwear."

The sip of wine I'd just taken almost shot through my nose. When I quit spluttering I laid my napkin on the table, grabbed my little clutch purse, and pushed my chair back to stand up. "Just order me whatever one of the specials is, I'm sure it will be great. I'm going to the ladies room." I glanced around the restaurant. "Um, do you happen to know which way the bathrooms are?"

"I think there was a little hallway near the entrance. Try that."

Bimbette was at her station near the door and, as much as it pained me to do it, I asked her where the restrooms were located. She confirmed Joe's guess of down the hallway. I thanked her and as I turned to walk away she called after me, "You're welcome, ma'am." _Ma'am? I'm not old enough to be a ma'am! _I sucked in a sharp breath between gritted teeth and stalked toward the ladies room door. The little twit was baiting me and I refused to rise to it. For now. If she kept it up I couldn't make any promises.

After washing my hands I stared into the mirror. "I'm not old enough to be a ma'am," I told my reflection.

"The hostess got you too, huh?" said a voice behind me. I turned around to find a tall red-haired woman who looked about my age and dressed to kill. She wore a simple emerald green dress that I'm sure was by some hot-shot designer and her wrists, ears, and throat were positively dripping with diamonds. Facing her I suddenly felt very, very underdressed. She smiled at my stunned expression and said in a sisterly tone, "That little bitch is rude to every pretty woman who walks through the door, but she's the owner's favorite niece so there's nothing anyone can do about it." Her smiled became a conspiratorial grin. "So, is your date flirting with her?"

"Sort of. He's trying not to but I don't think he can help himself."

Her grin got wider. "Tell him she's only sixteen."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

It was my turn to grin. "Thanks, I'll do that."

When I got back to our table the busty little bitch was standing there giggling madly at something Morelli had said. He was smiling stupidly back at her. I rolled my eyes and sat down, shooting Bimbette a dark look before turning an evil grin on Joe. "You picking up jail-bait, Detective?" Joe turned confused and slightly annoyed eyes to me. The jail-bait in question just flipped her hair, rolled her eyes, and flounced away.

"She's sixteen," I informed him.

"Sixteen?"

"You heard me."

"She doesn't look sixteen."

"I'm sure the judge will consider that."

He frowned. "I'm here with you."

"Then you'd better act like it," I snapped. He shook his head and reached across the table to take my hands. "You're right. I'm being an ass. I'm sorry."

I blew out a sigh. "It's OK. You're male. You are powerless against cute blondes with big boobs. They're your kryptonite."

"I won't argue that blonds aren't tempting," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice a little. "But the only kryptonite I've ever had is sitting here with her hands in mine. I've been powerless against you since I was eight years old."

See, that's the thing about Joe – he can go from jackass to romantic in 0.2 seconds flat. Surprised tears sprang up in my eyes, but before I could say anything Antonio arrived with our antipasto. Given our mutual aversion to vegetables, neither of us had ever had c_arciofi fritti_ before but the little fried artichoke slices were excellent! We made short work of them and were discussing discreet ways to mop up the crumbs from the plate when Antonio reappeared with the first course, or _primo_. Formal (or fancy) Italian dinners happen in courses. Primo is usually a small serving of soup, pasta or rice that comes between the antipasto (or appetizer) and the main course. Mine was a really yummy shrimp and tomato risotto, and Joe had penne with calamari in a wine sauce. We had already agreed to share at least tastes of each other's dishes since we probably wouldn't be coming back anytime soon and wanted to experience as much of the food as we could, but when Morelli offered me a forkful of pasta with a big piece of tentacle speared on the end I made a face.

"What's that face about? You like calamari."

"I like fried calamari rings. I don't eat feet."

"What do you mean, 'feet'?"

"That piece of tentacle on the end of your fork."

He actually rolled his eyes at me. "What did you expect? Calamari is squid."

"I know what calamari is. That doesn't mean I want to eat their feet."

"It's not feet!"

"Whatever. Just keep the creepy tentacles on your own plate, please."

I should have taken the tentacles as a sign. When the main course, or _secondo_, came out Antonio placed a plate in front of me with a flourish saying, "_Papparadelle alle Regaglie_ for the lady." A second waiter handed over another plate piled with wilted greens on top of which rested two squares of what looked like some sort of grilled beef. Antonio put that one in front of Morelli and announced, "_Fegatelli di Vitello_ for the gentleman." He then asked us if we required anything else and when Joe answered in the negative he made kind of a little bow and shooed the other waiter back toward the kitchen.

"So what is this stuff?" I asked my Italian boyfriend.

"Yours is some sort of chicken and mine is veal-something, but I only swear fluently in Italian. You want me to call Grandma Bella and get literal translations for you?"

"No!" I panicked momentarily at the thought of his scary grandmother but recovered quickly. "I mean, no….that won't be necessary. They both smell good so let's just be brave and dig in."

I lifted my fork and looked down at my plate of wide noodles in a thin sauce and small lumps of a funny grayish-brown meat. The sauce had bits of pancetta, some chopped green herbs, pieces of mushroom, and just enough tomato, onion, and garlic to tell me it was a pretty authentic recipe. Then again, I consider Tasty Kakes to be _haute cuisine. _The meat still looked slightly suspicious to me, so I started with the noodles and sauce. It was wonderful! One side of my plate held a small stack of asparagus covered in a garlic and herb paste. Since the artichokes earlier had been so good I decided to give this vegetable the benefit of the doubt and forked off a bite. My eyes rolled back in my head. _Yum! _

OK, time to give the chicken a shot. I wound a good sized wad of noodles onto my fork and then stabbed one of the little pieces of meat. I put it in my mouth, chewed a couple of times, and…almost gagged. It was kind of chewy and gritty at the same time. I refused to spit the tough lump of what decidedly did NOT taste like chicken out into the pristine linen napkin, so I forced myself to hold my breath and just swallow it. When I looked up, Morelli was staring at his barely touched plate with an expression that mirrored my own.

"I don't think this is chicken."

"Yeah, well…this doesn't taste like any veal I've ever had, either."

"So how do we find out what – exactly – we're eating?"

"I'm not sure." He looked around. "Did you notice if the desserts were listed in the regular menu?"

"I think so."

"Let's ask for one so we can order dessert. Maybe the specials will be described in there somewhere. Too bad neither of us was paying attention earlier, huh?" He caught Antonio's attention and relayed the request, to which Antonio just nodded and trotted off to fetch the menu. Sure enough, the specials were listed on a fancy little card tucked inside the menu. Joe's brow furrowed slightly as he read, then his eyes widened and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

"What?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "As expensive as this place is, and with all the wonderful things on this menu, leave it to us to order chicken gizzards and veal liver."

"Holy shit," I whispered.

"That about sums it up," he said, and began laughing in earnest. I joined in after another stunned second.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"We order dessert and make as graceful an exit as possible." He signaled the waiter.

"Have you decided, sir?" Antonio asked.

"Yes, we'd like two orders of tiramisu, but could I get you to pack them and rest of our dinner up for us?" He flashed his badge. "I've had a call and we need to leave."

"Of course, sir," the waiter replied. Then he whisked our plates away to the kitchen and returned in record time carrying a pretty paper bag with little twine handles containing four boxes of food. He placed the bag on the table and handed Joe the bill. Morelli's face reddened briefly when he saw the total, but he just nodded and handed over his credit card without a single word.

"So what are we going to do with all this?" I asking, waving a hand toward the bag.

"The dessert is for us, and I figured Bob wouldn't mind the gizzards and liver."

"That's awfully expensive dog food. I hope Bob appreciates it."

"Yeah," he replied in a dark tone.

"So since we haven't really had dinner yet, how about you swing by Pino's on the way home and I'll spring for those meatball subs and beer you mentioned earlier?"


	3. Dessert

_Not my characters - I'm not making a dime._

**SMUT WARNING**

**

* * *

The Big Date – Part III**

Forty-five minutes later we trooped into Morelli's house carrying our ridiculously expensive leftovers, Pino's take-out, and beer. Bob bounded past us, took a whiz in the front yard, then galloped back to Joe and attached his nose to the side of the bag from La Bella.

"Oh look," I said, "He knows which one is his."

Morelli rolled his eyes and moved around me into the kitchen. I followed him, cracking open two beers and unwrapping the subs while he set the boxes of tiramisu on top of the fridge (out of Bob range) and then dumped the container of gizzard pasta into Bob's bowl. Bob dove in immediately, his whole butt wiggling gleefully while he ate. Joe watched him for a few seconds and sighed heavily. "Well, I'm glad somebody's enjoying it."

"Hey, we gave it our best shot. At least we're okay with not being fancy."

He nodded absently and shrugged out of his suit jacket. I started to kick off my shoes but changed my mind. It would ruin the effect of the garter belt if I didn't leave the heels on. Morelli grabbed one of the subs and a beer, collapsed onto the couch, and kicked off his shoes. I took my sandwich and beer around to sit down beside him.

"Are you mad our big date didn't turn out like you'd planned?" I asked him between mouthfuls.

"Not mad," he mumbled around meatball and bread, "Just getting tired of coming up short."

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he said, holding up his sub in one hand and beer in the other. "I thought I could be fancier for you – just once – but I couldn't pull it off."

"Huh?"

"This is it, Cupcake. This is me: a stinky dog, a hand-me-down house, and take-out."

"So?" _Look who's getting good with the one-word sentences._

"So…I don't blame you for looking at Ranger the way you do. I don't drive a fancy black car, I don't have a penthouse apartment, and I'll never be Batman."

_Whoa! _OK, now I was getting pissed. This certainly explained the weird mood Morelli had been in all night, though. "This is not a competition between the two of you," I said in _(yay for me!)_ a calm, even tone.

He barked a laugh that had nothing to do with humor. "Don't take this the wrong way, Cupcake…but the hell it isn't."

"And you thought you could buy me off by getting dressed up and having dinner at a fancy restaurant?"

He scowled. "Well, when you say it like that it sounds…"

"Shallow? Juvenile? Chauvinistic? Stop me when I get to one you like," I snapped.

Color started creeping up his neck. "Now just a damn minute; I didn't go to all this trouble just for us to fight tonight."

"Trouble?" My voice rose an octave. "I'll show you trouble." I stood up and turned to face him then stripped off my top and skirt, flinging them aside so that he got a good eyeful of the lingerie ensemble and heels.

"This," I waved my hand down at my body ala Vanna White, "is trouble. Do you have any idea what goes into putting an outfit like this together?"

Morelli just stared at me in open-mouthed shock. He stared so long that my anger faded enough for self-consciousness to start setting in. I felt the first tingles of a blush crawl up my neck and across my cheeks. Joe still had not moved. I'm not sure he was even breathing. My sails suddenly deflated completely.

"Um…yeah…I'll just…" I looked around for the rest of my clothes. "I'll just go on home." My mind raced, trying to plan my escape. Joe had driven me here so I'd have to either call for a ride or hike to my parents' house and borrow Big Blue. Hoofing it three miles in heels? So not happening. I'd call Lula when I got outside. I spotted my shirt hanging off the end table and moved to retrieve it. The Morelli statue reanimated.

"You're. Not. Going. Anywhere." he growled.

Suddenly I was backed up against the wall, pinned by his body without any breathing space between us. Then he kissed me. I tried to stay angry. I knew I had a perfectly good reason to be angry – but for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was. Morelli leaned into the kiss, pressing our bodies together so that we had contact from lips to toes and I was no longer capable of coherent thought at all.

For a few glorious seconds everything was hands and heat and mouths. He pulled back just enough for my hands to slide up his chest and begin undoing his shirt buttons. When I reached the point where the shirt tucked into his pants, I yanked the tails free and finished the buttons in a rush. I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms until it caught him in sort of a sexy straight-jacket at the elbows. He turned loose of me momentarily, letting the shirt to fall to the floor, and then attacked my lips again. A low but urgent whining brought us back to reality.

"Bobbus Interruptus," I murmured against the curve of Morelli's neck.

"Don't. Move." Joe replied, punctuating each word with a kiss. He bolted for the back door with Bob hot on his heels and I heard him lecturing the poor dog about timing and threatening to leave him on the tie-out all night. When he rounded the corner back into the living room I wished for the ability to slow time down. Watching him prowl towards me wearing that white muscle shirt and those gray slacks in bare feet…sweet Jesus what I wouldn't give for perpetual instant replay of those few seconds. In slow motion.

"Now where were we?" he asked as he slid in close.

"Pants," I said.

"What about them?"

"Off."

He smiled. "What's the magic word?"

"Now." _Holy crap at the single-word statements! I've been hanging around Ranger entirely too much. Dammit. Why am I thinking about Ranger right now? No. Bad Stephanie! No naked, sweaty Ranger thoughts! Ah, shit…too late. Quick, think about naked, sweaty Morelli. OK, now where was I?_

"Something wrong, Cupcake?"

"Nope…um, not a thing." _Whew! That was almost another one-word sentence. I really need to break that habit. At least I didn't say any of that out loud. Wait, did I? Why is he looking at me like that?_

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're so cute when you have those conversations with yourself in your head."

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"That you do," he purred and pulled me to him. Since he'd ignored the pants command I snaked my hands between us and undid the belt buckle myself. When I got the fastener and zipper undone and tugged, he stepped back to let them fall in a puddle of gray material around his ankles. He ripped the undershirt over his own head in a rush, and then we were both only wearing underwear. I plastered myself against the front of his body, suddenly unable to get enough skin contact with this gorgeous man. I simply had to be touching him. Everywhere. Right now.

I swear the man actually growled. Like, literally…this wordless, rumbling sound that I felt more than heard came from deep in his chest as he swept me into his arms and carried me up the stairs to his bedroom. He tossed me down on the bed and made that growling noise again. Then he just stood there, eyes wide, staring at me.

"You see something you like, Detective?"

"You are so damn sexy." His voice had gone low and raspy. "Can you…" he paused, licked his lips, swallowed hard, and tried again. "Can you take the panties off and leave the rest?"

I smiled. "That's the point of wearing them this way." I wiggled the thong off my hips, slid it down my legs and kicked it across the room with a flick of my foot. Morelli made kind of a strangled noise. The strained front of his boxer-briefs let me know just exactly how much he liked the show, and I reached up to free him from their confines.

"_Godammit_, Cupcake," he breathed as I wrapped my hand around him. He lowered himself onto the bed, forcing me to let go or hurt him, and kissed me. When he tried to pull back to stare at me again, I fisted my hands in his hair and pulled him down to me, covering myself with his body like a favorite blanket. I arched my body up to meet his, rubbing myself along his length and tearing moans from both our throats. "God…Stephanie…Please…" he begged. I angled my hips up for him and cried out when he slid inside with one powerful thrust. He found his angle and rhythm quickly and sent me plummeting over the edge, screaming my pleasure into his broad, sweat slick chest.

When I came back to myself I realized that the expression on his face wasn't entirely pleasure. I looked down our bodies and discovered that at some point I had wrapped my legs around his and gripped down so that my high heels dug into his calves. I started trying to reposition my legs but he held me still for a second. "I can't decide if the heels are unbelievable or if they just fucking hurt," he said.

"You want me to take them off?" I whispered. My voice wasn't up to anything more just yet.

"No." He flipped us over so that I rode him and the heels were safely pointed away from any exposed flesh. "Move for me," he commanded.

It didn't take long until reality shattered for me again, and this time Joe followed a heartbeat behind. I collapsed on top of him and we lay in a sweating, panting heap for several minutes. When the thudding of my pulse began to slow I heard a faint, plaintive 'woof' coming from the backyard. "Bob wants in," I rasped between hoarse breaths.

"If your legs work, feel free to go let him in," Morelli sounded as winded as I was. Goody.

"OK, how about whoever can walk first gets Bob and brings dessert back upstairs?"

"Didn't we just have dessert?"

"I mean the tiramisu from the restaurant."

"I know what you mean," he paused, "Where does a shower fit into this plan?"

"Alright, try this one: whoever can walk first gets Bob and brings dessert back upstairs. The other one starts the water running, and after we eat the tiramisu we hop in the shower."

"Not bad, but I have a better idea." There was definitely a mischievous note to his voice.

"What's that?"

"Whoever can walk first lets Bob in and brings the tiramisu upstairs. We eat it in bed - preferably off of our bodies - inevitably getting all sticky and messy and then take turns cleaning each other up in the shower afterwards."

"I think we have a winner."

**The End.**

_Thank you to VampTrampBella for her amazing beta skills!_


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